


Blood Brothers

by Hello_Spikey



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brother/Brother Incest, Demon Dean Winchester, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2019-10-21 22:43:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17651279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hello_Spikey/pseuds/Hello_Spikey
Summary: My interpretation of how Season 10 could open.





	Blood Brothers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ash_carpenter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ash_carpenter/gifts).



> Okay okay okay so I am the laziest friend, ever, and I've owed Ash fic since my birthday. Possibly longer. I forget. Mostly I just don't put out.
> 
> But I know she loves her some Wincest, and I finally watched the season finale, and, well, it inspired me. Here is some (gasp!) Wincest! Just for you, Ash! *MWAH*
> 
> Now, I'm just GUESSING how they'll do it on the show, but I'm pretty sure next season will start something like this - perhaps as a montage with a classic rock song. I recommend Sympathy for the Devil.

Tell Sammy tonight or wait for him to find out? Dean cracked open a cold one and contemplated the cheap motel across the road. Sam had followed him, clueless, anxious, knowing only that he’d miraculously recovered and ran off. Sam thought for no reason. Maybe horrors of a glimpse of where he was headed. Again. Been there, done that.

Dean needed the space of a few miles to think. The fact was, being a demon more or less rocked, but he didn’t want to lose Sam, or worse, suffer through some questionable CURE. He’d seen what a pussy that made of Crowley.

Fortunately, being a demon meant not really caring if he played by the rules. And Sam had grown unwary of the black-eyed, too long fighting bigger fish, too comfortable with that slaying blade under his pillow to draw a devil’s trap before bed. So Dean kept running, just slow enough for Sam to follow without feeling like he was being led, and when Sam ate, Dean made sure to slip a little flavor into whatever he ordered.

Demon blood in a blue cheese arugula salad. If only he could do something about his little brother’s appalling taste. A rare steak would take more sauce, and not make him look like such a douche.

Dean hadn’t done any research or math or anything, but it had been a week of Dean-flavored cuisine and Sam was a former addict, so he was thinking the boring part was about over. Probably it would be better to wait a while long, snoop around, find out if Sam was affected…

Fuck it. He hadn’t liked waiting around when he was human.

Dean drained his beer, tossed the bottle nonchalantly into the street, and sauntered up to the motel.

Sam must have been watching. He opened the door before Dean raised his hand to knock. He stood there, staring. “Dean.”

“Going to let me in?”

Sam stepped back. “It’s… come in.” Sam looked Dean up and down. His cheek twitched. “You look, uh, you look good.”

“Cut the crap, Sammy. I know you’re wondering why I bolted.”

“More wondering HOW. You were DEAD. I took your pulse.”

Dean spread his arms wide. “Well, it’s clear you were never going to medical school.” He stepped close, close enough to feel his brother’s heat. Sam shied away. Dean dropped his arms. “So you didn’t miss me?”

Sam hesitated, and there was another of those helpless facial twitches he got when the emotions were just too much to process, but then his shoulders dropped and he grabbed Dean, gathered him into a hard, tight hug. “I thought I’d lost you. For real.”

Dean ran his hands over his brother’s back, enjoying the warmth, the hard body, the smell of him. “Man, I waited too long for this.” He cupped Sam’s ass.

Sam pushed back. “Why did you? The hell, Dean? What happened to you? Why did you run? Where were you going?”

Dean sighed. “I should have known this would be all talk and no make-up sex.”

“You were dead, not on a bender.”

Dean held up his hands. “I left because I knew you’d freak out.”

“’Freak out’ doesn’t begin to cover it.”

Dean took Sam’s hand. “There’s a lot of ground to cover. You should check that all my parts came back in working order, first.” He drew his hand to his groin.

Sam made to pull out of his grip, but Dean held fast. Sam tugged harder. “Dean?”

“Not really asking, Sammy.”

Sam tugged again, the realization dawning slowly in his eyes. “You’re not…”

“I’m Dean. And what I got to say will sound a hell of a lot better in the afterglow.”

They struggled. They fought, but Dean knew Sammy loved giving it up sweaty and grimy on the floor, fighting as hard to get off as he did pretending he didn’t want it.

The change came when Dean's dick slipped through clenched cheeks, not even penetrating yet. He'd gotten Sam's jeans down and his own and his cock had travelled a rough path over wrinkled denim to feel hot skin at last, slick with sweat. The pressure was sweet and firm and abruptly Sam was pushing back instead of away. Near-miss, strike and skip, they'd played that plenty of times, but with both of them jabbing and thrusting at last they hit the mark. Sam cried out in pain, but Dean sank in like homecoming.

It was good… pure and hot and filthy. Dean wondered how he did this with the miasma of fear and shame and regret he used to feel. Just remembering it was exhausting. Much better the pure chase to pleasure. He picked Sam up by a handful of hair and a hand on his hip and guided him back and down. Sam's hands pushed on the bed, the carpet, his strong thighs trembling with the effort to push, the fight for more and more. Dean's hand slipped off a grimy hip and he took hold of Sam's cock almost by instinct, or habit. He held onto it as he chased his completion and he felt Sam come harder than ever, twisting and grinding out his last drop on the tacky motel carpet.

They ended up in a web of limbs and clothes, one jean-leg on, one caught under the other’s back, one arm over, one arm under.

Dean looked at a scratch on his wrist. “You cut me,” he said, trying to sound a little upset about it, to get Sam to look.

Sam groaned and turned his head. His hair stuck to the sweat on Dean’s shoulder where his shirt was torn. “Seriously?”

Dean held his wrist in front of Sam. “Kiss it better.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but he always loved cheesy little displays like that, so he kissed the wound. Dean watched the smear of his blood on Sam’s lips hungrily until Sam licked it away.

Sam stiffened and gave a soft gasp. Like a druggie getting a hit. More than ‘like’. Dean smiled. “Like that, Sammy? I got more.”

Sam scrambled away, eyes wide. He got caught up in his half-off jeans, then the side of the bed. He crawled up onto it. “You… Dean. Oh god. But… Cas… the bone sigil…”

“I’m not possessed, dumbass. This is me.”

Dean got up a lot easier than Sam had. He pulled up his jeans but left them open. Whistling, he pulled a knife from his boot.

Sam held out his hand and started reciting an exorcism.

Dean winced. “Wow, that feels… like fingernails on chalkboard. DUDE. I’m not possessed. You can’t exorcise me. This is me.” Dean raised his knife. Sam cowered away from it, scrambled for the blade under is pillow. Dean rolled his eyes. The fear was nice, though.

He cut his own forearm, cut it nice and deep, deeper than he intended as he reveled in the sensation of not fearing damage, of being indestructible. He tossed the knife behind him and held out his bleeding arm.

Sam’s pupils dilated. He froze, one hand under his pillow. “What is this?”

“Yeah, I’m a demon now. Drinks are on me.”

Sam sat up, eyes tracking from the welling blood to Dean’s face. “You want me… dependent. Tied to you.”

“Duh. With a rope.” Dean put a knee on the bed and held his arm close in front of Sam’s face. “But I still love you, dumbass. And I want to give you something. I have something I can give you, now, don’t I?”

Sam stares. Blood drips in fat drops on his chest. The moment is poised, ready to tip either way for so long Dean can’t even bet which way it’ll go. He wonders if he pushed it too soon.

And then Sam latches on. And Dean suddenly realizes, as he smugly watches, as he grows hard again at the greed, the slobbering greed in his brother, that there’s still a part of him that was hoping it wouldn’t work.


End file.
